A Letter For Sammy
by stay-stark
Summary: When receiving an odd letter, Sam takes the time to think about the past and decide what would be best for him and his family.


It didn't take much for Sam Winchester to escape the motel where he and his brother were stationed. All he had to do was wait for Dean to get in the shower and then he left. He didn't bother leaving a note and only took along a bag of necessities.

No one questioned the young boy that loitered the streets of Flagstaff, Arizona. But it wasn't without a purpose and Sam soon found what he was looking for. It was an abandoned house, the house of a victim. Sam had overhead his father mention the street and it didn't take much to find it.

Using his own devices, Sam broke into the slightly shabby house with ease. It was a bit worn but since the killing had taken place outside of the household, there were no bloodstains and plenty of food lining the open shelf above the kitchen bar.

Settling into the recliner situated strategically in front of the TV, Sam dug into the small duffle bag he had packed. In the bag were a few set of clothes and some cash, and neatly tucked away in an inside zipper, was a letter addressed to him.

With the Winchesters on the road all the time, Sam had never received a letter before. Not a real one. An envelope with his name messily scrawled on top was normal but not this. A Mr. and first initial and last name, with an address and city. Though there was no return address, Sam claimed it to be legitimate.

A few days ago, when the letter first came, he was ecstatic - but now, he dreaded opening it. He took to staring down at it for a long time, taking in the yellowish tint of the thick paper and the red, waxen seal on the back. Sam took a closer look at the crest that was imprinted but couldn't make out too many distinctions.

Running his hand through his shaggy locks, Sam released a sigh and broke the seal. He gingerly removed the few sheets of neatly folded papers and flipped open the letters, tensing as he did so.

To his surprise, it seemed like a joke. It seemed a bit elaborate but after reading the main letter and skimming the items listed on the second, Sam surmised that it had to be a joke. The letter stated that he was a wizard, and that he had been accepted to join Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (What kind of name is that? He thought, confused at the absurdity).

But then he wondered who would want to pull such a prank on him. His father would never allow for this kind of nonsense and Dean was becoming as adamant as their father, among other qualities. There was Bobby and Pastor Jim but they had no rhyme or reason to plan this trick. So could it be real?

Placing the letter aside, Sam let out a loud sigh and rubbed his forehead therapeutically.

Logically, Sam wouldn't be surprised if it were real. His father fought all sorts of creatures and although he was too young to go along on hunts, Dean had recently started tagging along and he always came back with stories. But there were moments, moments that he and his family did their best to ignore.

It was months ago and months before that. They were times when Sam had wanted something so bad, they had actually happened. The first time he could remember was in September and as his father was on a case, he and Dean were allowed to go to school. Naturally, Sam had been embarrassed and quiet and on that first day, in science class, the students were put in groups of two and Sam was left to himself to follow the instructions in the book. Frazzled and unsure, Sam tried and made a complete mess of the entire experiment. But before the teacher could reach his table and berate him, Sam just started to throw things together and stir them – and the teacher had been impressed. Sam didn't even remember what they were supposed to be doing but the teacher had exclaimed that it was just perfect.

When Sam had found Dean and told him the whole story, Dean had laughed it off and called Sammy lucky and the teacher batty.

The second time, however, was a bit harder to ignore.

It was late January and they were in Colorado. It was freezing and there was snow everywhere they looked. Sam and Dean were waiting in the cabin that their father had arranged and Sam wanted to play out in the snow. Of course, they weren't supposed to be outside but Dean had decided it would be okay if they stayed close by the house. Dean didn't really feel like playing so he stood idly by the house and Sam, deciding it was best to somehow get his brother involved, threw a large snowball his way. Dean was unprepared and fell backwards to hit a post.

Sam could only watch as the icicles boarding the house began to fall. They were sharp and dangerous and the instant they came in contact with Dean's body, they turned into water.

Neither of them said anything on the matter when Dean came down with a cold and their father asked if either had been outside.

"In this weather?" Dean had joked with a sarcastic smile before situating himself to sit closer to the fire.

There were also those stories that Dean used to tell him about himself. About how when he was younger, him and his father would find Sam with a cookie or candy that had been too far out of his reach. Or that time in third grade when he had fallen in the playground and had bounced.

So why couldn't magic exist? Why couldn't he be a wizard and learn witchcraft? It seemed obvious enough that there was something different about him. Something very different.

He had run away for peace and to suddenly have this on his platter didn't bode all that well with him.

Sam ignored the letter for a few more days, enjoying the home. He found a dog (who he promptly named Bones as he was digging in a bucket of old chicken bones) and ate Funyuns and Mr. Pibb for the next few days. He took to training Bones and played with the idea of enrolling in Hogwarts, of learning magic.

All those days he was alone, the letter was never too far from his body or mind. He would reread its contents at least twice a day, having it slowly seared in his mind, but he couldn't decide. Sure, the thought of him being special was nice and all, but the school was in a totally different continent! His father would never approve anyway and he couldn't stomach the idea of leaving Dean, not yet anyway.

This was his argument for a few days. He also tried to reason that there was no way that he could retrieve an owl to send a reply. And even if he decided he wanted to go, the letter said nothing about bringing dogs. He couldn't leave Bones.

"What should I do, Bones?" Sam asked the golden retriever. Bones, unsure of his new master's command, merely cocked his head cutely to the side with a lopped smile. Sighing, Sam pet the dog appreciatively.

Before Sam knew it, two weeks had passed and he still didn't have an answer.

Fiddling with the worn letter, the soft sounds of cartoon chatter leaking into his ears, Sam reread the letter.

He couldn't go – he couldn't. What made him so special? Some gene that he received that millions of other kids didn't, that Dean didn't? No, he couldn't go. There was no way he could go.

But he wanted to. He told himself not to fixate on the question of what made him special but rather the fact that he was special - because he was. He could already do so much and if he got trained, maybe he could even use his gift at hunting. Maybe his father would find it useful and it wasn't as if he wouldn't be able to write to Dean or Bobby or Pastor Jim. And they could even write back.

Sam had never been so torn before.

With a short exhale, Sam ripped the letter in one clean swipe. He repeated the process, a heavy feeling in his heart as the sound attacked his ears.

That afternoon, he packed up the few belongings he brought to the house, and left. He had spent enough time playing pretend and it was time for him to get back to reality. Leaving Bones behind was far worse than his decision to return to his life on the road and with as much dignity and as little regret as possible, Sam found his way back to his meager family.

**Just a friendly reminder to review because feedback is nice and I don't know how to feel about this. **


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